


Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

by LePetitCroissant



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4604538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LePetitCroissant/pseuds/LePetitCroissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previously a oneshot, now going to be where I put all my oneshots. YOUR PROMPTS ARE MORE THAN WELCOME!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Just a little something I whipped up in an attempt at getting back into the flow of things. 
> 
> Also, this was not beta'd since my beta has been in the hospital, and since English isn't my first language any and all mistakes are my own. In fact, I wrote this for her to cheer her up since she hates the place. I just hope it did the trick! 
> 
> I also took some creative liberties as far CR's significant other is concerned, as well as Beca's looks because, really, I just want to personally be and/or be with someone like this Beca.
> 
> EDIT: I've wanted to do a prompt series for a while now and decided that this would be the best place to collect them, so if you've got an idea hit me up! But please keep in mind that I am still busy so the stories might not come as fast as you'd like, but be patient with me and we'll get through it together!
> 
> (Please also note that I'm not yet comfortable enough to write smut, so let's all avoid the awkwardness and avoid those prompts.)  
> Read on, enjoy, and tell me what you though in a review! 
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything related to Pitch Perfect belongs to Kay Cannon and the Pitch Perfect crew, while "Muse" belongs to OCAD, "Just the Way You Are" belongs to Bruno Mars, "Just a Dream" belongs to Nelly, and the combination of the two belongs to the Pitch Perfect people.

She expected raunchy and cliché, with awful music and sleazy men lying about with blank eyes and disgusting smiles painted on their faces.

Instead, it’s dark and surprisingly classy. The music is soft and the atmosphere is calm in this black and white setting. She’s delighted to note that there are no cheap neon lights anywhere in sight.

She doesn’t see any scantily clad women walking around in trashy, floss-like string disguised as underwear. In fact, the few ladies she does see walking around are dressed in sexy outfits, yes, but nothing demeaning; the woman she (checks out, admittedly in a shameless way) sees pass her with an empty tray is wearing a tight fitting white shirt and a pair of snug black shorts. So what if the shorts are too short and the shirt’s got more open buttons than what you’d see in a regular office? But hey, she looks really comfortable.

(She also notes that the ladies seem to be wearing a teasingly seductive corset-type thing under their white shirts and the idea makes her shiver.)

She decides that if her circumstances are going to force her to be a stripper, then she’s okay with it as long as it’s here.

She’s brought out of her moment of inspecting the club by a silent and lightly frowning Asian woman in the club’s uniform who directs her to the bar where she assumes she’s meant to wait until it’s time for her to meet someone named Aubrey Posen.

She doesn’t really pay much attention as she shifts onto a bar stool, picking at her nails absently in her nervous state before she lets the music calm her down a little, singing quietly along with Bruno Mars’ “Just the Way You Are” when a voice behind her surprises her.

“What’s your poison, Red?”

She jumps, startled, and squeaks embarrassingly as she registers the person who spoke up – the bartender. She’s vaguely aware that the tune of “Just a Dream” has weaved its way into the Bruno Mars song and she’s intrigued. She’s making a mental note to ask about the music when she’s ensnared by the deepest, steeliest navy blue eyes she’s ever seen, framed by heavy eyeliner and swimming with amusement that really makes them pop.

A glint of something metallic tears her eyes up and her attention is drawn, like a moth to a flame, to a sharp if small rod of shiny metal piercing through the creamy pale skin above and under a perfectly shaped eyebrow, which is currently quirked up at her in expectation. Her brain catches up and her eyes seem to come out of their tunnel vision state that had her focused on this person’s eyes – this woman, she notes – and she’s startled again because _this woman is gorgeous_ …

She’s not sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t a petite but stunning woman with soft-looking brown waves pulled into a tight and high ponytail. Her eyes do that thing again where they roam of their own free accord and she notes several more piercings in the woman’s ears, most notably a menacing earspike rammed through her left ear’s cartilage. Her mouth is left unattractively slack as her eyes travel down an angular jawline and along the contours of the pale skin of the brunette’s throat and neck, and dropping down into the open cleavage of the woman’s sleeveless black button up before her brain short circuits and she realizes she’s being a pervert. Her eyes snap up to look at a seemingly safer body part as she starts looking up along the bartender’s arms. And that’s how she notices a bunch of tattoos peppered here and there – a grasshopper, headphones, and a line of text is all she makes out for the time being – her eyes stopping at the hints of ink she sees peeking out from under the shirt at the brunette’s shoulder. She finds that she’s really internally frustrated because what little she can see of the tattoo doesn’t give her even the tiniest bit of a clue of what it might be.

She also realizes that she’s ridiculously attracted to this woman right now and the only exchange they’ve had so far is the brunette asking her about poison.

(No, she’s not counting the creepy staring while her jaw hangs wide open thing she’s doing.)

It doesn’t help her case any that those intense, penetrating eyes keep trapping her in their sight and paralyzing her brain.

She blushes inexplicably as her eyes finally make it back to the woman’s face and she catches sight of the amused smirk teasingly tilting one side of the bartender’s lips up. That pierced eyebrow climbs even higher and her mouth goes dry.

So she licks her lips slowly, and suppresses her shiver as she notes the bartender’s dark eyes follow the progression of her tongue, catching on every pause and obediently falling back in line to watch the rest of the motion. She counts the bartender’s smirk faltering as a win for her.

Then the woman is looking her straight in the eyes and she’s got the vocabulary and motor skills of a dead slug.

She idly thinks to herself that there’s nothing _straight_ about this entire situation.

Her lack of verbal responses has the bartender trying again, this time wondering if she even speaks English.

“No English?”

“Yes English?”

More unattractive blank staring.

“Just tell me where you are with English…”

She finally snaps out of it, letting the brunette know – in a shaky, broken teenage-boy-going-through-puberty voice, embarrassingly enough – that she’s here to meet with someone about a job and that it’s probably unprofessional to be interviewed with alcohol on her breath.

“Ah. You’re here to see Aubrey.”

There’s that damn smirk and raised eyebrow again. And she was just getting her body to function again.

She watches the brunette turn to the rows of booze behind her and look for something, her heart unhealthily skipping at least five beats as she sees a feather dissolving into birds tattooed right behind the woman’s ear because _can this woman get any hotter…_

She’s brought back to the here and now – which she’s not sure is a good thing anyway – by the woman turning back around with two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila that looks like it could knock out an elephant if taken lightly.

“Here, you’ll need this.”

She watches the bartender’s hands as she pours the two shots and replaces the bottle on the bar top within reach. She makes note of the fact that the woman’s fingers are really long, and that they’re probably really fun and good in be-

She quickly downs the shot, the burn in her throat no match for the one she feels everywhere else in her body. The bartender is laughing as she lifts the other shot to her own lips, knocking it back without faltering.

She’s thankful that the woman on the other side of the bar has the good sense to pour them seconds because the brunette’s laugh is still banging and rattling around in her mind and its low, silky seductiveness is doing nothing to quell the heat burning like wildfire just under the seams of her skin.

She hopes that the tequila will fix that as she downs the second shot.

It doesn’t help, but the bartender is pouring them a third so she’s hoping that third time’s the charm.

She’s delighted to note that at least she’s loosened up enough to clink their glasses together, and she returns the brunette’s flirty smirk with a small smile of her own.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a strip club?”

She decides to play it cool, even if the idea that this ethereal badass angel finds her pretty is doing ridiculous things to her insides.

“You’ve got plenty of pretty girls walking around.”

“Touché. I just meant that you don’t strike me as the pretty girl that ends up working in a strip club. More like a dancer. Well, the non-exotic kind anyway.”

She’s shocked because this woman’s got her figured out just by looking at her.

Whenever she meets someone, they always assume she’s an art student for reasons she’s never understood. Then she tells them about her background and being from a family of high-profile doctors and they naturally shift their assumptions into her being a doctor too. But this woman, a complete stranger, saw right through her and she can’t help it but a feeling of… _something_ … swells in her chest and it breaks through the haze and fog of pure lust that had gathered like a storm inside her.

She wants to get to know this woman.

So she sighs and she tells her that,

“Yeah, I am actually. I moved out here to open my own dance studio, but my family doesn’t support it, like, at all – they’re all doctors and wanted me to be one too – so I’m short on money. Like, I’ve got none of it. Not even enough to get my own place, so I’m just crashing on an acquaintance’s couch until I can afford to get my own place.”

She notes the bartender’s slight frown before she’s drawn back to the woman’s lips as they move, the way they form words mesmerizing her.

“An acquaintance? Like, they’re not family or even a friend? Wow, that’s rough. I hope you get this job- actually I’m pretty confident that you will, and then once you’ve settled into the family, you can move in with one of us.”

She can’t help it, her eyebrows lift a little in question as she asks her next question.

“The family? Is this like a mafia strip club or something? Because I’m not looking for that.”

The brunette is laughing lightly again as she wipes the bar top with a rag, seemingly just wanting to keep her hands busy. She’s noted so far that the bartender’s hands seem to always be doing something, otherwise they come off as restless and antsy.

“It’s really cheesy, but we _are_ like a family here. It’s no regular strip club here; Aubrey started it because she wanted to prove something to her dad – who’s a total ass, by the way – and it’s just become her baby ever since. She’s very protective of everyone here; she runs background checks on the new employees to make sure she’s not letting in anyone that could harm the girls – which is why you have to actually interview to be a stripper here – she takes everyone’s comments and complaints super seriously too, and tries to make sure we’re all comfortable here at all times. She’ll never make you do anything you don’t like either, so if you’re hired and feel like you can’t perform just yet, she’s more than okay with letting you be part of the waiting staff until you feel you’re ready to perform, if you ever feel up to it.”

She’s looking at the bartender suspiciously, she knows, but what the woman just described sounds too good to be true, there has to be a catch. So she glances back down at their empty shot glasses before looking up at the chuckling brunette across from her.

“Alright, so I tend to tease Bree a lot. Honestly though, she’s a really great person and an awesome boss. She’s the reason everyone in this building _wants_ to be here. She just happens to be… intense… sometimes. Mostly from the stress of the job and dealing with creeps at all hours of the day and night. Last time she interviewed a guy to be our bouncer, she freaked him out so bad the dude pulled a disappearing act. Literally, he vanished in a cloud of smoke. Later we found out he was really into magic and stuff. It all worked out though, and Benji is now one of our sweetest most caring friends. So yeah, I find it goes a lot easier and better for all the new employees if they’ve had a shot or two in them before they meet her – that’s why Lilly sent you here first.”

Her head follows the bartender’s nod as she spots the woman that sent her to the bar cleaning a table a few feet away from them. She’s barely looked back at the brunette when she’s nodding again towards another woman at the other end of the bar; an African-American woman with a clipboard that seems to be counting something under the bar top.

“That’s Cynthia-Rose, or just CR. She’s a recovering gambler who used to spend a crapton of time here – particularly when she had a bad night at the tables – and she met her, now, wife here. Ruby – CR’s wife – used to be one of our performers when they met. She’s stopped performing now because they decided to start a family, and Ruby was finally ready to settle down and be a stay-at-home mom. It was actually pretty sweet – not that I would ever admit to describing it as such – because CR was hopelessly in love with Ruby but she never got up the courage to ask her out. Instead she’d just come around and mope until one day Bree and I agreed that I could use an extra hand back here and offered her a job, hoping that would help. Which it did because once they got to know each other better, CR wasted no more time and asked Ruby out and, well, the rest is history as they say.”

She smiles as she looks at CR again, her ears still tuned into what the brunette was saying.

“Ruby still visits on weekends, or fills in for CR when she can’t make it. That’s the kind of environment that Aubrey has created for her staff; we’re not her employees, we’re her friends and her family.”

She’s about to say something when a bouncing flurry of brunette motion barrels into the bar, only barely deterred by the barrier as she leans over the top and pulls the woman into a tight hug which looks to be actually physically paining the bartender slightly.

Pulling back, the bartender smiles softly and speaks to the girl, who only looks to be 17 or 18.

“Hey, Em. You know the rules, you can’t be out front, so off you go to Bree’s- no, head into my office today since Bree’s got an interview soon.”

The girl looks ready to protest when the bartender’s features harden a little.

“No, Emily. You know how Stacie feels about you hanging out here. At least the wait isn’t long today; Stacie’s going up soon and then you’re both free to go afterwards. But for now, you need to head to the back. Go do inventory or something to keep busy. And no going backstage, you’ll only distract Stacie and it’ll take her _that_ much longer to be done with work.”

She watches the young woman, shoulders dropped in defeat, give a small pathetic nod and head somewhere behind a closed door marked **Staff Only**. She doesn’t have to do much aside from turn back to the bartender and look like she wants to ask when the woman across from her volunteers the information.

“That’s Emily. She’s Stacie’s little sister- well, technically, paternal half-sister. She’s been staying with Stacie for a few years now ever since she lost her parents in a house fire. She’s currently a senior in high school. She tends to come hang out here often and wait for her sister on the days when Stacie’s going to get off work early.”

She wants to know who Stacie is when she’s interrupted by the beginning tunes of OCAD’s “Muse” and she starts looking around and towards the stage and dance pole (it’s still a strip club, and it needs its props even if it is turning out to be a pretty cool place).  The bartender’s amused voice draws her attention back to face her, but not before she sees a tall, leggy, busty, and extremely attractive brunette step out to a wave of holler and approval from the crowd of _clients_ she hadn’t noticed had gathered.

“And _that_ , is Stacie herself.”

She watches the woman in question strut and sway and swagger around in a tight pencil skirt, and a silky button up that she kept teasingly undoing and redoing. She catches a lewd wink thrown their way – causing her to blush a little – before she turns back to the bartender, noting the smirk on the woman’s face as she raises another shot towards Stacie on the stage before downing it.

She clears her throat, drawing her- _the_ bartender’s attention back to her as she asks whether Stacie does this because she needs the money to support herself and Emily.

“Not at all. Stacie graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Physics, and a Master’s degree in something else equally nerdy that I can’t pronounce. She was even top of her class and the valedictorian too. No, Stacie works here because she _wants_ to be here, _enjoys_ doing this. She calls it an indefinite sabbatical that will only end whenever she decides she’s ready to start working for her PhD.”

Her jaw slackens a little and they both turn to silently watch this apparent genius wow the crowd for a while. She has to admit that Stacie has quite the talent, and is a great dancer – exotic or otherwise.

She turns back around when she feels the brunette bartender tap her shoulder and point towards two women making the rounds and serving the drinks that CR has been mixing this entire time. She hadn’t even noticed that the brunette had seemingly dropped everything and was focused solely on her.

This knowledge was like someone pouring gasoline onto her lust fire. She was starting to feel feverish.

“The blonde’s Jessica, and the brunette’s Ashley. They both came in here separately looking for jobs to support themselves with. When they met, they both hit it off right away and have been inseparable ever since. Sometimes, it takes the rest of us a moment to remember which is which. They’re currently trying to convince Bree that it’s time we branch out. I think they’re softening her up too.”

She nods thoughtfully, watching the pair interact a little more before she turns back to the bar and helps herself to another shot, not meeting the bartender’s entertained eyes.

Something loud and accented draws her eyes back to the front, and she sees a little Latin looking woman gesturing wildly to draw the bartenders’ attention, so CR excuses herself and walks over to see what the commotion is about.

“That’s Flo. She’s from Cuba. I actually came across Flo one night when she tried to sell me- eh, herself. I took her home that night,” she smirks as she watches the bartender blush a little and stumble over her words, “ _not_ for _that_. I spent the night talking to her and generally trying to help her. I helped her sort out her shady paperwork too, before getting her a bunch of jobs that would never work out before finally she stormed into the place during lunch and demanded Aubrey hire her. So we did, and things have been great ever since.”

Another loud crash makes the bartender frown as she mutters something about a Fat Amy. But CR goes backstage with Flo to investigate, and she spots a tall guy with dark brown hair follow them.

“That’s Jesse; he’s the other bouncer and Benji’s best friend. He, Aubrey, and I are the original owners of this place, before our closest girls became partners too. They’re all probably going to check on Fat Amy who’s possibly snuck in yet another exotic wild animal which has most likely gotten loose by now. Last time, it was a six foot snake. She called him Steve, after the late Steve Irwin. It didn’t seem to matter that the snake was a female either.”

She looks around, a little frantic and lifts her legs off the ground, ignoring the bartender’s amused chuckle. She absently asks why the snake would be named Steve Irwin. She’s casually told that Fat Amy (“You call her _Fat_ Amy?” A shrug, “That’s how she introduced herself, so ‘twig bitches’ like us don’t do it behind her back”) is Australian.

She nods, looking around at the group of oddballs she hopes to work with soon because she’s actually started liking them and would like to get to know them better.

“What about Lilly?”

“Uh, nobody really knows why Lilly’s here. Actually, none of us have ever even heard Lilly talk. But she does sick beat boxing so we know she at least has vocal chords. Lilly likes to wait tables mostly and we’re all okay with that. She’s got that mysterious and kinda scary thing going on too, so nobody bothers her. I’ve never had to intervene on her behalf before.”

She frowns at this and turns back to face the bartender.

“Why would you need to intervene? You’ve got bouncers and stuff, right? Don’t they deal with the problems?”

“They do, but I don’t like it when someone bothers my friends. I’m fiercely protective of all the girls, and I’ve got the kind of temper that usually comes with a mean left hook.”

Her eyebrows lift up, challenging and disbelieving when CR comes back at the tail end of that conversation, interrupting.

“Yo, Stepladder, time to show Red here why you’ve got a criminal record; Bumper’s back.”

She doesn’t know what she’s more curious about: who this Bumper guy is, why CR called the bartender ‘Stepladder’, or what the deal with this criminal record is when the brunette’s face flashes and darkens dangerously before she stalks off and… drops roughly a foot down before heading towards the backstage. She turns her confusion on CR, who informs her that the bar is elevated on a platform because the brunette is so short.

Before she knows it, she’s cracking up and laughing because how can someone _so tiny_ be badass enough to have grown men scared of her and her apparent “mean left hook.” CR doesn’t bother commenting, instead she waits then points towards the backstage door the petite brunette walked through just as that Jesse guy comes out, dragging another impish looking guy behind him.

Her laughter dies down when she notices the guy – she’s assuming is Bumper – cradling his face, blood oozing out from between his fingers where his nose should be as his eyes screw shut in pain.

The little brunette bartender heads back towards them, shaking out her left hand as she mutters darkly under her breath and wordlessly accepts an ice pack from CR, who cheerfully goes back to serving drinks, like nothing happened.

“Sorry about that. Bumper is Amy’s boyfriend, and they’re currently not getting along. Amy’s asked that we make sure he stays out, but he always somehow weasels his way back in. That’s the third time this week we’ve had to throw his ass out.”

She nods, impressed by the level of care and protection she’s seen so far.

She also watches in intrigue as CR whispers something to the brunette, the woman rolling her eyes and lifting the ice pack that’s hiding a busted knuckle or two to show her fellow bartender. With a stern look from CR, the brunette excuses herself with a huff before she heads to wash and wrap her hand up, returning with another dazzlingly flirty smirk in place.

She smirks back a little and braves the next question.

“What about you, what’s your name and story? Or should I just call you Stepladder?”

She’s rewarded with another eye roll and a delightful smirk.

“I’m Beca. My story’s nothing special. I grew up with Bree and Jesse, and we moved out here together, before we came up with the idea of starting this place – Jesse and I just wanted to spite Bree’s dad so we pushed for it to be a strip club – and I’m actually saving up to start my own record label. That track that was playing when you got here, the Bruno Mars and Nelly mix? One of mine. Most of the music we play here is mine, actually, unless the girls have something specific in mind – like when Stacie’s got some business suit fantasy she wants to fulfill or whatever, but that doesn’t happen too often, thank God.”

She’s not sure what prompts her sudden wave of bravery (probably the four shots of tequila she’s downed so far) but she finds herself making a move on Beca.

“And what about the uniform? Do you have a corset under there too?”

Beca laughs, low and downright sinful before letting her default smirk take its place on her face again.

“Slow down there, Red. I don’t even know your name.”

The answer is instantaneous.

“Chloe. I’m Chloe.”

“Well, Chloe, I’m intrigued to see how this works out, so I think I’m going to make an executive decision and hire you. You’ll start on Monday.”

Chloe, for her part, looks relieved and beams as Beca pours her fifth shot of tequila, “on the house, to celebrate the new job.”

“And as for whether or not the corset uniform applies to me… why don’t you go to dinner with me on Friday and find out for yourself?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Bechloe meeting very vaguely inspired by Problem by Natalia kills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello to anyone that followed/favorited this story! I've missed you all!
> 
> It's been a long while, I know, and you're probably disappointed this isn't a continuation of the first chapter, but I've recently switch my major to Architecture and haven't had any time to myself to write which resulted in writer's block! But I'm here now because I needed to get this out there.
> 
> Anyway, this was vaguely inspired by Problem by Natalia Kills, even though it doesn't really follow the song word for word. Obviously, I don't own anything from the Pitch Perfect world, or the song.
> 
> Sorry for the long A/N! Read and enjoy, and leave me a review to help with my finals stress!

Chloe Beale has a problem.

It is 5’2”, covered in tattoos from head to toe, and has way more piercings than should be comfortable. Her problem also has the habit of walking around with a smirk so naturally mischievous it must have been there since birth.

She met her problem, or more commonly known as Beca Mitchell, on a road going nowhere.

(Her friend, Aubrey Posen, still yells at her for picking up a random stranger on the road in the middle of the night.)

But Chloe’s always been a curious person by nature, and when she’s confronted with a tiny, slumped figure shuffling along a deserted road at an ungodly hour, she stops and investigates because what if the person is hurt? Or lost and needs a ride? Really, Chloe’s just being a good person.

It turned out that the figure – one Beca Mitchell, anti-heroine of this tale – was neither hurt nor lost, merely out for a stroll.

The redhead isn’t sure why she didn’t just drive off after her first offer for a ride was declined, but something in the back of her mind informs her that it might have to do with that casually devious smirk and glint of trouble in the brunette’s eyes.

Chloe ends up slowing to what feels like a mile per hour as she drives alongside this tiny figure dressed in layers of plaid and sass who refuses to get in the car.

Soon enough, Chloe finds herself parked in the lot of a darkened bar, idly wondering if she has unwittingly become an accessory to some crime while watching the brunette that led them here pick the lock and strut in, offering a final naughty smirk as she closes the door behind her.

Needless to say, Chloe gets an earful from Aubrey the next day.

Chloe’s put her midnight excursion in the back of her mind for the next few nights when she’s bowled over during her run one evening. She had been distracted by the post-sundown sky, and the very particular shade of navy blue that was painted across the horizon when she found herself on the ground and staring at the same shade of blue, only in two smaller, more concentrated orbs that glinted with a familiar look of trouble.

That’s when it clicks in Chloe’s mind that _that_ is why the sky had held her attention for so long; they matched the eyes smirking down at her as Beca Mitchell – who has shown up out of nowhere – extends a hand to help the redhead up.

Chloe’s idly wondering if Beca was stalking her as she accepts the brunette’s hand when Beca not-at-all-subtly uses Chloe’s upward momentum against her and pulls the redhead flush against her, dark navy eyes so close that Chloe can’t breathe because _wow_.

Before she can do much though, those blue eyes are suddenly backing up and turning away and soon – too soon – she’s looking at the back of a head covered in cascading brunette waves, a smooth and arrogant voice calling out to her to watch where she’s running next time.

Chloe stands there for far too long watching the already small figure get smaller and disappear in the distance before a sudden clap of thunder startles her back to reality.

(Aubrey yells herself hoarse that night as she fusses over a dripping wet Chloe and basically smothers her in towels and blankets because why is she acting like a reckless fool for a random woman she just met? Doesn’t Chloe understand what the flu is?!)

Chloe spends the next few days asking around and looking for the mysterious Beca Mitchell.

Somehow though, her efforts don’t pay off; nobody seems to know anything about this girl beyond the occasional brief glimpse. One person even compared seeing Beca to a rare sighting of a unicorn in the wild.

So eventually, Chloe retraces her steps and finds her way back to the bar she watched Beca break into.

It’s relatively early in the night and the redhead is pleased to find that the establishment is open for business. So she heads inside and looks around for her Problem that’s kept her awake for the past few nights.

Of course, said Problem _is_ pretty petite and not so easily spotted, even in a relatively non-crowded establishment like this one.

Chloe blows out a breath and decides that her day has been long and it’s time she got herself a drink. As she settles on a stool at the end of the bar manned by a large blonde, her eyes find a tall and busty brunette making her way behind the counter and whispering something into the blonde’s ear. She watches as the brunette – who looks mighty put out and frustrated – casts her eyes around, eventually landing on her.

Chloe swallows as she watches the tall woman slow and eventually stop talking, turning a predatory smirk her way before she pours two shots of tequila and saunters over in the, admittedly, semi-narrow space behind the bar.

The redhead downs the shot before anything verbal can be exchanged, blushing a little when she hears the tall brunette across from her laugh. She also makes the mistake of looking up right as the woman leans down on her elbows on the bar top and _holy hell those are fantastic_ …

The brunette laughs harder as Chloe blushes deeper and tries to look anywhere except right in front of her and ends up throwing her head back and staring at the ceiling at a 90 degree angle.

The brunette – Stacie, she introduces herself – playfully helps right Chloe’s neck before proceeding to ask what a pretty girl like Chloe was doing in a dive like this and looking so miserable to boot.

Chloe’s considering her options – she did, after all, watch a stranger break into this very bar a number of nights ago and she’d rather not land in jail for a crush that might not even work out – when the blonde bartender steps up behind Stacie and slides a blood-red drink in front of her with a casual “on the house” thrown over her shoulder as she turns to serve another customer.

The redhead’s confusion only grows when Stacie straightens with a knowing smirk and tells the redhead that she should have known.

And that’s how Chloe finds out that the drink she’s been served is called “Earspike’s Amore” – a concoction created by the blonde barkeep known as Fat Amy to soothe the broken hearted left in one Beca Mitchell’s trail.

Chloe’s left gaping and sputtering as Stacie first expresses sympathy for the redhead then praises Beca for finally bedding a redhead. Chloe spends a good five minutes telling Stacie that, yes she is a natural redhead, but no she doesn’t know Beca – she’s merely following her around.

In hindsight, Chloe realizes she should have at least phrased that better.

Stacie is in the middle of an amused once-over of Chloe when something – some _one_ – catches her eyes. She smirks and wishes Chloe good luck before walking away from the confused redhead. It doesn’t take long though, and before she knows it, there’s a tap on Chloe’s shoulder that has her turning around.

And coming face to face with a cheeky smirk and dark eyes that inquire as to whether Chloe’s stalking them.

She doesn’t know what prods her to do it, nor does she want to know or even care. The redhead commands the voice inside her head – which suspiciously sounds like Aubrey – to shut up as she surges forward and crashes her lips against Beca Mitchell’s, the arrogant brunette smirking into it as she anchors her hands against Chloe’s waist, not at all shy about sliding them under the fabric of the redhead’s shirt.

They feel like fire and Chloe swears she hears the sizzle of them on her skin. She even breaks away to check lest she really is on fire.

Beca’s lips attach to her neck and it does nothing to douse the flames. Chloe almost wishes she _was_ on fire; it’d hurt less than the overwhelming pain of not having Beca close enough, not touching enough.

The bar is a blur of noise and color but all Chloe feels is an absence of hands as the tiny brunette detaches and starts pulling her along, the redhead’s foggy mind catching snippets of Stacie yelling something about the rules and sex on the desk.

Next thing she knows, Chloe’s in a decently sized office in the back, but before she can really take in her surroundings, she’s pushed up against the wall with Beca’s lips roaming her throat and her heavily tattooed hands and arms setting Chloe on fire again.

She wakes up naked, alone, and thoroughly late for work but unbelievably satisfied and sore in the best way possible, so she can’t really bring herself to care _too_ much.

Until she realizes that she lost her shirt during last night’s… activities… and she doesn’t exactly have a spare shirt around. Then she realizes that she’s probably locked inside the bar too, and she starts to mildly panic.

She’s barely clasped her bra and is in the middle of trying to figure out if she can salvage her shirt in any way when the door opens and Stacie walks in with a spare shirt, not at all bothered by Chloe’s state of undress. In fact, she seems to be enjoying it. A little too much if her reluctance to hand over the shirt is anything to go by.

Chloe has to all but climb Stacie to reach the shirt and yank it out of her hand.

She’s buttoning up the simple black button up as Stacie explains that Beca has a history of tearing shirts in ways that render them unusable again, and after a few incidents where girls have fled the bar naked and in tears, Stacie and Amy decided that it’s bad publicity and take turns making sure there’s a stock of spare shirts ready in the storage.

Chloe frowns and her fingers slow as they slip the final button through the loop, wondering why Stacie even tolerates such behavior from Beca in her own bar.

She finds out that Beca co-owns the bar with Stacie and Amy, and that she wasn’t always such a womanizing douchebag. Apparently over the past 18 months, Beca’s been through quite the ordeal; her mother getting sick and passing away really took its toll and the brunette’s been coping by acting out in this method.

Stacie’s just grateful it’s not drugs, and that the excessive drinking stopped.

Intrigued and a little bit ashamed of the negative way she judged Beca before knowing her better, Chloe calls into work sick and spends the morning getting to know Stacie better, and by extension, Beca too.

She learns that Stacie and Beca have been friends since kindergarten when a taller-than-average Stacie had tripped over a brooding Beca, who was looking even tinier as she huddled in a corner and tinkering with a xylophone. Stacie had won over the grumpy brunette by teaching her how to play 'twinkle twinkle', and Beca had put in the effort by sticking up for Stacie on the playground when some kids made fun of Stacie's height. They've been inseparable ever since.

(Beca deems it sickeningly cliché but Stacie knows she wouldn't change a thing.)

At some point, Fat Amy attempts to sneak in stealthily, looking thoroughly ravaged.

(Maybe not as much as Chloe was, but judging by the tangles of blonde hair and smudged makeup, it was a valiant effort.)

But Amy - who was apparently actually named Fat Patricia - was met with Stacie's knowing smirk and something about a Bumper, leaving Amy to deflect by getting behind the bar and serving shots. She went through three by the time Stacie finally got her attention to remind her that it wasn't even noon yet.

Amy knocked back two more shots anyway.

By the time noon did roll around, Chloe had learned a lot more than she had expected.

For example, she learned that Amy had met her two bar co-owners in high school when she moved stateside with her family, who happened to own a famous chain of strip clubs in Australia known for having performers with all of their limbs intact.

She learned that Stacie's been an honor student all her life, and was currently pursuing her second Bachelor's degree in Architecture.

(Apparently the first one was in Quantum Physics, but Stacie got bored.)

And she's learned that, in addition to bedding a new girl after every meal, Beca Mitchell unwinds with music and hanging out at dog kennels with puppies.

Chloe's actually debating having lunch with the two women when they offer when her phone blares to life, Aubrey's name blinking frantically at her.

Bracing herself for the yelling, the redhead excuses herself from the bar and surrenders herself to her fate.

Aubrey yells for a solid ten minutes about murderers and ditches before Chloe can even get a word in. Another five minutes and Chloe finally gets off the phone, rolling her eyes at the sheer number of death scenarios Aubrey thought up in the past twelve hours.

(There were 37. Her best friend wrote them down for her.)

Chloe spends much of her "walk of shame" thinking about Beca's sweaty torso, and the tattoos on Beca's knuckles as they roamed Chloe's thighs.

(Aubrey yells for another five minutes once Chloe makes it home. The redhead tunes her out after the first two minutes, and heads to her room by the fifth minute.)

Later that night, Chloe heads out for a walk, idly considering heading to the bar again to hang out with Stacie and Amy again. Bonus points if she sees Beca again.

Aubrey tags along to make sure Chloe actually makes it back home this time.

They have only been there for ten minutes when Stacie hones in on them, barely sparing Chloe a glance and a greeting as she zeroes in on Aubrey, earning a smirk from Chloe and a deep blush from a flustered Aubrey.

Stacie spends the rest of the night lewdly bent across the bar top as she liquors up Chloe's usually uber-composed best friend.

Chloe's grateful for the distraction, Aubrey's hawk-like watchful gaze was proving to be too much like that of a disappointed parent's glare.

The combination of tequila and flashy boobs keep Aubrey from noticing the redhead stepping out – supposedly for air – and stepping into something else.

For the second time in a week, Chloe found herself on the ground, looking up at navy blue eyes, a smirk, and an extended hand.

Beca takes a drag from the cigarette loosely held between her fingers as Chloe takes her hand and gets to her feet.

The redhead doesn't have time to get her bearings together because Beca's mouth is on hers and the world around her doesn't exist anymore.

There’s a fire that burns hot within Chloe’s blood and along the seams of her lungs, and when they pull away, Chloe finds herself blowing out the cloud of smoke Beca had inhaled before kissing her.

She also finally understands what a kiss should feel like.

She's vaguely aware of a whimper falling from her lips as she's violently tugged forward by the waist to fall against Beca again, and she can't bring herself to care because she's a junkie for Beca's lips and she's just gotten another fix.

In the deep crevices of her mind, Chloe registers that she's never felt such a carnal attraction to anyone before.

She can't wait to see how this all ends.

(It ends with Chloe letting herself get dragged into the darkened back office of an establishment down the street from the bar, where she spends the rest of the night having mind-blowing sex with Beca.)

Chloe wakes up nude again and idly wonders why she doesn’t always sleep stark naked when a soft and melodic voice draws her attention.

So she gets up off of the uncomfortable desk they spent the night on and finds a shirt laid out for her close by, notably identical to the one she received from Stacie the day before at the bar.

Chloe follows the singing and finds her way out to the front just as she buttons up the last couple of buttons, stopping when she realizes she’s within the shelves of a huge music store. Her heart rate spikes up as she notes that the store isn’t even open yet and she’s going to be in a world of trouble thanks to her inability to say no to a hot pair of legs.

She tries to sneak her way back out through the back door they used to break in last night, but the singing stops abruptly and the African-American woman she spotted briefly behind the register speaks up, asking her to come to the front and have some coffee. Sheepishly, the redhead makes her way to the front and accepts the cup held out to her with a smile.

The woman introduces herself as Cynthia-Rose Addams – but please, call her CR – Beca’s other childhood friend and co-owner of the store they’re standing in, along with a third friend of theirs that hasn’t arrived yet. Chloe is then informed of the same story Stacie told about why Beca behaves the way she does. The redhead is struck with how much these women seems to love and respect Beca if they’re continuing to allow her to act out like a tantrum-throwing toddler.

(She doesn’t let herself dwell on the fact that she’s been a willing participant in at least two of these tantrums.)

Cynthia-Rose, however, it seems is more intrigued by Chloe and the fact that the redhead has been with Beca twice so far, casually noting that Beca doesn’t usually indulge in repetition. More often than not, CR has witnessed the brunette simply not acknowledge the girls she’s been with if she bumps into them again.

(Chloe also doesn’t let herself dwell on the tiny spark of jealousy that spikes when she thinks about who Beca might be with at that very moment. She has to repeat to herself that it is way too soon for any of these thoughts and that they’re just having a good time, it’s nothing serious.)

(The Aubrey voice in her head won’t shut up about how much she needs this to become a serious thing. It physically pains Chloe.)

The redhead spends another hour looking around because it is, after all, a music store and Chloe is nothing if not passionate about music. She doesn’t dare spend more time there though even if she’s enjoying CR’s company; not when she has Aubrey to get home to, especially after vanishing on her last night at the bar and leaving her at Stacie’s mercy. CR has a good laugh after she hears about that part of Chloe’s previous evening, noting that Aubrey’s not getting home until well after noon. The pair even make a bet about it, with Chloe promising to be back later that afternoon with the results and a wallet full of salary money she wants to spend in CR’s shop.

CR is, as it turns out, correct as Chloe watches Aubrey try to slink her way back into the apartment at around two in the afternoon. The blonde has the decency to at least look guilty even if her disheveled, ‘I have been up all night and most of the next day having mind-numbing sex’ look does take away from the desired effect.

Chloe’s so impressed – and a little put off because it does look like her and Beca’s nights have been outdone – that she doesn’t comment on Aubrey’s looks or her lateness.

The blonde still doesn’t appreciate the cheeky knowing smirk Chloe aims at her all the way until she’s behind her bedroom door.

(Chloe’s smirk intensifies when a flushed Aubrey informs her that Stacie’s invited her back to the bar later that night. The redhead makes sure to keep teasing her best friend for the rest of the afternoon. Aubrey kicks her out of the apartment after she makes the third joke about dying from dehydration due to so much sex.)

She’s still smiling as she walks into the record store – after all, she does owe CR $20 – and finds a frowning Asian woman behind the counter. The name sewn into the breast pocket of the shirt she’s donning identifies her as Lilly, and Chloe remembers her as CR and Beca’s other business partner. She also remembers that she was told that Lilly is a little bit of an oddball and needs some getting used to, and that Chloe should avoid getting to know her if she finds herself alone with the other woman. So with a tight smile as Lilly’s eyes stay riveted on Chloe’s left breast for some reason, the redhead keeps walking, deciding to find the records she eyed that morning.

She’s bumped into CR and is telling her all about Aubrey while handing over a 20 dollar bill when a pair of arms pull her back tightly against a steady frame. Chloe’s barely let out a squeak when she feels lips on her neck and _oh God, that mouth_.

Chloe can’t even suppress her shiver as that same mouth – still very much attached to her skin – asks if they’ve now hired the redhead in the store, and whether the shirt she’s still wearing from that morning is Beca’s.

Chloe’s mind connects the dots and she realizes that the name – stitched into her left breast pocket in shiny black thread that shines across the matte material of the shirt – is in fact Beca’s.

The brunette’s lips and hands get noticeably bolder after she spins Chloe to take a look, her already dusk-colored eyes darkening a shade or two more as she takes in the redhead in her shirt, Beca’s name standing like a mark on her territory and igniting another spark within the brunette.

Chloe swallows at the sight, suddenly very aware of people’s eyes on them. She especially takes note of one woman and her child, throwing them such dirty looks they might kill the pair. So Chloe does what any sensible person causing discomfort out in public by being themselves would do.

She laces her fingers into Beca’s hair and pulls her into a rough kiss that really shouldn’t happen outside of the bedroom, not even bothering to restrain her moan as she grants Beca’s tongue entrance.

CR is howling with laughter as the woman huffs and drags her child out, a few other store patrons cheering and hollering. Soon though, the African-American woman has to remind Chloe and her mouth attachment that they are in public and should probably separate for breath.

(It doesn’t work, and Cynthia-Rose ends up having to physically pry them apart. She barely ducks out of the way of Beca’s flailing arm that’s attempting to bat her away.)

It turns out then that Chloe’s walked into the store on a busy day, and Beca needs to actually work for a change. They split up, Chloe idly mentioning that she’s going to be at the bar later that night in the same shirt in case Beca’s interested.

The smirk she gets in response tells her that she won’t be wearing the shirt for much longer past that night.

(And just because she’s got work to do doesn’t mean Beca won’t take every opportunity presented to her to press up against Chloe – a fact that is not lost on CR who keeps a super close eye on the pair’s interactions – the redhead more than pleased and willing to lose herself in the promising touches.)

As promised, Chloe and Aubrey head to the bar that night – the ginger purposefully taking longer than necessary to get ready just to irk an extremely eager and nagging Aubrey – and they find Stacie and Amy at the bar talking in hushed tones to CR, the threesome suspiciously quieting down as the roommates approach. Chloe doesn’t dwell on the thought for long though as she introduces Aubrey to CR and laughs as the music store owner teases Aubrey about her tryst with Stacie, not at all blaming her for “coming back for seconds.”

It doesn’t take long before Amy’s serving a scotch on the rocks next to where the women are sitting, Chloe smiling as a familiar tattooed left hand reaches for it while the right casually untucks Chloe’s ‘Beca shirt’ at the waist and slips under it to set Chloe’s skin on fire.

The redhead has to swallow twice and take a swig of her martini before she can successfully introduce the smirking brunette to Aubrey because Beca’s thumb is drawing patterns along her skin right where it meets her jeans and the ginger’s brain is scrambled.

(Chloe smirks at Aubrey who looks scandalized as Beca leans in and starts letting her lips roam along Chloe’s throat and up to her ear. Beca, being an asshole who notices, smirks against the redhead’s skin as she ups her advances the more Aubrey looks distressed.)

(Stacie, as it turns out, is equally an asshole because she smirks at the blonde’s discomfort and leans in to ravage Aubrey’s mouth, the blonde’s squeak of surprise dying off into a moan even as she flushes red all over.)

(Beca’s advances continue to get bolder because she’s not an idiot and is well aware that she’s been outdone by Stacie the night before, and that’s just not acceptable.)

(Amy threatens to break out the hose multiple times, and actually follows through when Chloe finally loses control of her sounds and gasps louder than is appropriate.)

(Beca actually hisses like a disgruntled cat when the cold water makes contact with her heated skin.)

Beca spends a decent number of hours just hanging out with her friends, and putting in an effort to get to know Chloe beyond the bedroom, a feat that earns her odd looks from her three friends that she doesn’t notice because her attention is wrapped around the redhead.

When the brunette finally has enough of socializing and asks if Chloe’d want to go back to her place that evening, Fat Amy chokes on the tequila shot she had just drunk. Beca barely casts a curious look over her shoulder as Stacie pounds the Australian’s back to help clear her airway, but Chloe – letting Beca drag her away – makes a mental note to ask Stacie about the whole night at a much, much later time.

In hindsight, Chloe should have known Beca’s preferred method of transport would be a motorcycle.

(Chloe makes sure to show Beca how much she appreciates her ride. All through the night.)

The redhead wakes up the next day, predictably, alone in bed. She finds herself growing frustrated, especially after the wonderful night spent getting to know Beca as a person; she was so sure things were going to change from being casual, mindless hook-ups.

She’s made up her mind to not let it happen again if she bumps into Beca again when she hears singing again, the same soft melodic voice drifting through the air, a delicious smell of waffles wafting in on its heels.

She’s barely sitting up in bed when a delightfully half naked Beca, dressed in a plaid button down that doesn’t really cover anything and no pants, walks in with a tray.

Chloe briefly thinks to herself that Beca’s smirk should be illegal so early in the day because it puts Chloe at a very real risk of not making it out of this bedroom.

(They alternate between eating the waffles and berries Beca’s brought in, and making out heavily – Chloe’s breathless giggles occasionally breaking through and travelling into Beca’s mouth.)

(They also end up showering together with a lot less giggling and a lot more breathlessness.)

The redhead is contemplative when they step out, dressing in borrowed underwear and clothes and watching Beca do the same, wondering if she should ask what they’re doing when Beca asks her if she’s busy that day, and if she would want to come with her to her tattooing appointment. Chloe teasingly wonders if there’s any skin left un-inked on Beca, to which the brunette merely smirks and tells her to join her and find out.

So Chloe does.

Beca takes her to a place on the other end of the bar, in the opposite direction of the music store, and struts in like she owns the place. After the overly friendly greetings that happen between the brunette and three women – including introducing Chloe – the redhead wonders if that’s far from the truth.

(It’s not; Beca co-owns the tattoo parlor with Flo, Jessica, and Ashley.)

The blonde and brunette pair – that jokingly refer to themselves as Jesseley – lead the way into a private back room where Beca casually strips off her clothes, Jesseley not even batting an eyelash while Chloe – who’s spent three nights in a row naked with Beca – blushes inexplicably and looks away from the brunette’s exposed torso.

(Looking away, it turns out, doesn’t actually block out the horde of dirty images flooding the ginger’s mind.)

She turns back just in time to see Beca settle into a chair with her chest pressed into the chair’s backrest, her shoulders and entire back relaxed as Jesseley prep their needles and ink, each of them taking one half of the brunette’s back as they start piercing her skin with their needles. The redhead flinches, impressed by Beca’s complete stillness and her ability to actually hold a conversation with the people in the room.

(Chloe nearly passed out when she got her little ladybug tattooed onto the inside of her wrist.)

It took a long number of hours, with a few breaks in between, but Chloe sat there and watched as a pair of wings were permanently etched into the flesh of Beca’s back, marveling at the beautiful design and the contrast between healthy feathered right wing and its decaying twin as it loses its feathers the further left the design goes.

Jesseley wrap up Beca’s torso, and promise to come hang out later that evening at the bar as they say their goodbyes. Chloe’s suddenly timid as she walks by Beca, the brunette looking serene despite the hours of undoubted pain that’s probably still searing along her back. But then Beca’s reaching across the gap between them and connecting their hands as they stroll towards the bar, the redhead’s smile endearingly and unexpectedly shy.

The night is spent drinking and laughing and dancing. There’s a flurry of touches and kisses interspersed throughout the activities of the night, but nothing that draws in Chloe’s eyebrows in worry.

(Stacie though, looks awfully worried at the amount of drinking that Beca’s engaging in, and makes sure to subtly and slowly cut her off.)

The night ends with sloppy kisses and a whispered request for a date pressed against Chloe’s slightly parted and swollen lips, the answer being a smiling resounding yes with more shy kisses tacked on to the tail end of a tipsy nod.

Beca – dressed in delicious leather overtop a white t-shirt and pants held in place by suspenders – ends up taking her to a pool hall owned _solely_ by Beca’s friend, Jesse. The young man is a puppy given human form, and they spend some time talking to him before Beca ushers them towards a secluded back table with a black felt top and an already racked up triangle begging to be disrupted.

The two women spend the rest of the time until Jesse announces closing time playing and drinking as Beca attempts to teach Chloe how to actually play the game, laughing and ducking numerous times as the redhead manages to make the balls fly off the table.

The week progresses much like that from there; Chloe goes about her business regularly during the day and hooks up with Beca at whichever store she’s working at that day before strolling towards the bar and spending time with their mutual friends.

It’s the middle of the second week when Chloe gets a frantic phone call in the middle of the night, Stacie desperate to know if Beca’s there in Chloe’s bed.

The barkeep tells Chloe that Beca’s bike was found crashed into a tree on an empty street leading nowhere and no sign of the brunette herself. The redhead’s out of bed and getting dressed before Stacie even finishes telling her that Beca had spent a big amount of time drinking herself stupid that night.

The address Stacie’s given her for the whereabouts of Beca’s bike lead Chloe back to that fateful street where she first saw Beca walking.

In the rush and frenzy overtaking her mind, one quietly whispered in the dark memory breaks through, and before she knows it, the redhead’s running.

And coming to a stop in front of a tombstone where a sobbing mess of a brunette lies against the damp grass.

Hours later, after Beca’s spotted Chloe standing there and looking terrified and asked her to lie down with her, the brunette whispers an introduction between Chloe and the tombstone that reads Beca’s mother’s name.

Hushed and intimate conversation flows between the three as Beca confesses to having feelings flow back into her cold insides again ever since she’s met Chloe.

So yeah, Chloe’s got a Problem.

But when her Problem turns her dusk-colored eyes that are finally clearing from clouds on her own ocean-blue eyes, Chloe realizes that she doesn’t mind having a Problem at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hear ye, hear ye.
> 
> Come one and come all, for lo and behold, I have joined the confusing and button filled world of tumblr.
> 
> Come find me @dishonoringthefamilycow, let's talk, bounce ideas off each other, and just be merry!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca's got a new hobby, and it's too sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Inspired by something (the very last line in italics) I saw on Twitter and my friend who pointed out that I didn't actually go through with my threat to kill someone off last chapter, so here you are.
> 
> Remember that your ideas and prompts are very much welcomed, and your reviews are more than needed.
> 
> Warning: Major character death.

Dr. David Mitchell has a lovely big backyard.

Beca spends most of her time in that yard, gardening.

It took her a while to settle on gardening – of all things – as her new hobby of choice. She tried her hand at a bunch of different things, hoping to find something that’d fill the void.

She tried sewing, but the needles’ holes were always too tiny and she could never get the thread through them to even begin sewing, and don’t even get her started on all the times she pricked her finger just by holding the needle. Needless to say, her voyage into the world of sewing didn’t last long.

She tried various kinds of exercise in the hopes of benefitting from the so-called happy hormones fitness freaks are always on about. All she got for her trouble were sore muscles and a near-constant queasy feeling. So she quit that too.

Briefly, Beca entertained a series of dangerous activities. Suddenly, she was addicted to sky diving and owned a motorcycle on which she performed perilous stunts no person as tiny as her should ever attempt.

(This also didn’t last long after she woke up from a month-long coma to her father sobbing his eyes out by her hospital bed, begging her to wake up, stop trying to get herself killed, and get some help.)

One day, as she recovered from her injuries, Beca wandered into the backyard at her father’s house. She sat there and watched as the step-mons- step _-mother_ repotted some plants and trimmed her flower bushes.

She’s still not sure what possessed her to do it, but she had gotten up then – with quite a bit of difficulty – and settled down next to Sheila, watching with a frown before slowly reaching out and starting to add some soil to the last plant her step-mother had repotted.

From then on, this became Beca’s daily routine. She’d spend half of her free time helping Sheila fix up the yard until there was nothing left to fix. She would spend the other half of her free time looking up plants and flowers and trees and various methods to grow and take care of them.

Beca Mitchell was suddenly a woman who went from walking into any and every music related store she’d walk by to a woman who actively avoided those in favor of gardening stores and chat rooms that would advise her on how to best protect her tomatoes from birds.

(Her mixing and music equipment have been left untouched and collecting dusts for the past year or so, ever since- well, ever since.)

Her new hobby kept her busy, and she felt a tiny spark of life seep back into her veins for all of six months before it started again.

It feels like someone has shoved a vacuum deep into her chest cavity, and her soul is slowly but oh so forcefully being sucked out of her again, a cold and empty feeling lingering.

She starts to feel the dust too, because her heart’s been left untouched, like her mixing equipment, and there’s a thick layer of dust coating it as it sits there, heavy and unbeating. It hurts to breathe too because the hunk of unmoving rock in her chest is all sharp points and jagged edges and cuts into her with every chest-tightening inhale and catches on the open wounds with each chest-expanding exhale.

It’s all at its most unpleasant when she tries to sleep.

She tosses and turns and never feels comfortable because there’s always that weight of a hand missing from her lower back as she settles on her stomach. She slips her own hand between the waistband of her sleep shorts and her skin, but it’s never going to be the same; her hands are never soft and warm enough.

Because for all of her pretenses and claims that she’s moving on, and is recovering because “it’s been two years already, I’m fine,” Beca Mitchell still sees it in her mind like it was merely minutes ago; when she stood by, helpless and held back as she screamed herself hoarse, watching the building on fire collapse in front of her and snuff out all hope and all life within.

She’s hated the color red ever since, and still snaps whenever someone describes redheads as fiery because how can people be so insensitive?

And even if it’s been two years, _“it's 3:46 am and all I can think about is your lips on mine.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hear ye, hear ye.
> 
> Come one and come all, for lo and behold, I have joined the confusing and button filled world of tumblr.
> 
> Come find me @dishonoringthefamilycow, let's talk, bounce ideas off each other, and just be merry!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellas reunite years after graduation, and Beca's losing her cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I believe my friend asked for Beca to be happy. And for Chloe to stay alive. This one's for you, Diamond.

Beca Mitchell has a good life going.

She has a semi-functional relationship with her family, has finally graduated and moved to Los Angeles, and was now getting ready to start her own little record label with her best friend, Jesse Swanson.

She owes a lot of it to Barden (and begrudgingly, her dad), but the most valuable thing she took away from Barden were her Bellas.

Beca has her very own gaggle of girlfriends that make her giggle and groan and watch Glee “for inspiration.” She’d do anything for these girls; from absurd holiday singing telegrams, to impromptu riff-offs within their Bella house; to actually watching movies from start to finish with these girls.

Beca’s done it all – for Christ’s sake, she’s gone to _jail_ for these girls – but by God there’s nothing in heaven or hell and everything in between that was going to stop her from mass murdering them all soon.

She’s grateful she kept in touch with them, of course she is, and sure it’s not the same as seeing them all day in and day out, but the occasional spa trips or shopping sprees one or two of them inflict on her from time to time is so, so worth it. And she’s beyond thrilled (deep inside obviously because she can’t actually show her excitement; people will think she has feelings) that they’ve finally worked out a weekend reunion thing, whatever, and it’ll be the whole gang for a change.

But Beca’s missing one thing in her life, and her Bellas are getting in the way of her having it. And nobody can claim that Beca’s ever taken being denied something well, so nobody can really fault her for throwing around tantrums like the two year old she is.

You see, she’s got the perfect set up in LA, right down to the gorgeous spacious apartment, the cat from hell that she swears is deleting her mixes when she sleeps, and the love of her life.

Because, yes, of course Beca got the girl.

Now if only the Bellas would let her “wife” the girl.

Beca had decided after carrying the ring around for weeks, and waiting for her moment, that this Bellas reunion Aubrey was putting together at her resort was going to be the perfect place to propose. After Beca herself, there wasn’t anyone in the world that Chloe loved more than her Bellas – with the exception of her family. Maybe – and being surrounded by them would be perfect.

(It’d also be easier to break the news of their engagement to the girls if the girls _were actually there._ )

It seems though that she failed to consider or estimate the amount of trouble the Bellas had a habit of getting into when they were gathered together with enough alcohol to keep them drunk for weeks.

So far, she had planned one romantic dinner to pop the question at which had been broken up halfway through because there was an incident involving feathers, clay pigeons, and now Emily was stuck up a tree with no way down.

Her next plan had involved a beautiful campfire, much like the one they had gathered around before the Worlds so many moons ago, and a heavy make out session as if they were randy teenagers taking advantage of the fact that they had the house to themselves. That hadn’t lasted long of course because soon there was a shrill scream from the room behind them and they bolted to investigate. It turned out that Emily and Benji were expecting a baby and while Beca was thrilled for them, she cursed her luck because now she was going to be the woman to steal Emily’s thunder.

Next she tried a hike, but all it took was one dirty comment from Chloe to cause a moment of distraction and Beca’s whole world was rushing past her vision so fast she was momentarily blinded. Of course Beca’s luck would have it that she would get swallowed up in another bear trap two days into her stay at the Lodge of Fallen Leaves.

(She’s not really complaining because she spends the night and the following day in bed with Chloe spoiling her rotten. In all of her nakedness.)

When the picnic she planned, complete with horseback rides, is crashed by the Bellas, who have come to demand team building exercises and singing, Beca has enough.

She storms off to sulk, refusing to partake in anything that’ll get her wet (“bet that’s the first time you ever said that around Chloe”, supplied helpfully by Fat Amy) when she’s pushed into the mud pit, a shrill and utterly un-lady-like scream ripping from her throat before she can clamp it down.

For a moment, just a fleeting fraction of a second, she considers just lying there on her side in the mud because she’s so unbelievably tired from failing so many times. Honestly, how can someone mess up proposing _four_ times?

But then there’s a weight on her hip and a halo of red hair that Beca swears is more beautiful than any sunset is framing wildly free blue eyes that crinkle at the edges in a smile.

Beca decides in that moment that oxygen is overrated and the sheer power of Chloe’s wide smile is going to be her lifeline from now on.

They spend the rest of the afternoon pushing and pulling and playing, with laughter and screams and songs from ladies of the 80s serving as the soundtrack for the day. And when sunset rolls around, and the Bellas are all lying around the grass in heaps of exhaustion and the occasional hysterical giggle, Chloe rolls into Beca’s side, and a glint catches Beca’s eyes in the dying rays of the day, leaving her utterly breathless as Chloe leans up on one elbow to look down at the brunette.

Before Beca can question the ring on Chloe’s finger, her chest seizes at the sight of Chloe’s smile, the redhead whispering a simple, “yes” against Beca’s lips before fusing their lips amid the deafening cheers of their Bellas.

So yeah, all in all, Beca Mitchell’s got a good life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hear ye, hear ye.
> 
> Come one and come all, for lo and behold, I have joined the confusing and button filled world of tumblr.
> 
> Come find me @dishonoringthefamilycow, let's talk, bounce ideas off each other, and just be merry!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Hysterical cooking experience. Whether that means loud laughter or crazed crying is up to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry this took so long! I've had finals and honestly, they didn't go so well, which just led to me being blocked and unable to get the words to flow. I'm still anxiously waiting for my grades as I write this, so wish me luck!
> 
> For my girl, I hope I did it justice and you like it.

Generally speaking, there wasn't much that the Bellas unanimously agreed on. So on the rare occasion that they  _did_  find something they all approved of, it was deemed a sacred thing.

For example, they all knew that Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the shit; the only acceptable way to watch Orange is the New Black is by binging it; Beca is totally hot for Chloe (that one wasn't actually discussed with Beca or Chloe, but it isn't any less true); and Chloe Beale is made up of sunshine and rainbows and unicorn poop held together in that flawless figure with flesh and bones.

So when, on one random day early on during the redhead's second senior year, Chloe had oh so casually mentioned that she can't cook, a certain reality had crashed around the Bellas, because Chloe Beale is perfection and how is it possible that there was something she  _couldn't_  do?

When asked what she had to say for herself, Chloe defended herself as follows, "I pour  **great**  cereal!"

She had the support of several Bellas on that one so the argument was dropped pretty quickly…

…until the redhead sheepishly mumbled that she couldn't even bake cookies.

If the Bellas were in disarray before, they were downright collapsing now.

(Literally. Fat Amy actually passed out. When she came to, she spent the rest of the afternoon huddled in a corner with a blanket and muttering to herself about fake realities and her life being a life and soulless gingers.)

Even Beca – who had been summoned down from her blanket cave for one – and had been just passive aggressively standing by had discreetly looked out the window expecting fire and brimstone because  _obviously_  this  **had** to be the end of the world, right?

After that, Chloe had been banished to her room for the rest of the day while the Bellas regrouped and came up with a plan. They concluded after a lot of debating and a few bouts of bloodshed and tears to take turns teaching Chloe how to make something they themselves knew how to make.

(Stacie's argument was, "what if she's suddenly on a date with Matt Bomer and she asks him over for dinner but doesn't actually know how to cook? How is she going to get laid then?" "Stacie, he's gay." "Have you  _ **seen**_  Red?")

So that's how Chloe found herself shopping for an apron – and ended up buying three, but whatever they're super cute – and a notebook specifically for the recipes she found her cooking every two weeks.

They started off light; Jessica and Ashley, being the nicest and the most normal out of the bunch, took the first shift and started off with Italian. It took a lot of trying and burning two sets of pizzas but by the end of the day Chloe had a messy kitchen and a feast of pasta and pizza to show for it.

(She had also messed up the portions and they ended up eating pasta until it was time for Chloe's next lesson. The Bellas made sure to double check everything after that.)

Flo was next, and Chloe had to push through her reluctance because who knows what kind of crazy stuff Flo was going to make her do?

(Crème brûlée. They made crème brûlée which is one of Chloe's favorite things to eat and because Chloe is basically a four year old child on Christmas morning, she had to be physically restrained to not constantly check on the dessert and possibly ruin it. Amy would have lost it if dessert was ruined.)

Amy went next, and instead of cooking, the Australian insisted that pairing the right drink with the food was essential and they basically spent the day getting drunk.

Thanksgiving was rapidly approaching and it had been established that the Bellas would stay on campus this year instead of going home to their families because Thanksgiving was the perfect day to teach Chloe to cook.

Except none of them were  _that_  good at cooking, and there was no way they could pull off an entire meal on their own. Naturally they called in the big guns.

(Aubrey was more than happy to ditch Thanksgiving with her family, and easily took control of the situation.)

(Beca smirked as she snuck a picture of Chloe proudly cracking open a can of cranberry sauce, her contribution for the day since Aubrey had restricted her to watching.)

(Nobody told Chloe that Aubrey had already prepared homemade cranberry sauce; the redhead looked so proud of herself.)

Stacie went next and it was the most awkward thing Chloe has ever experienced. Only the leggy Bella would somehow manage to sexualize making bread; something about kneading it like you were making love to it and the look on Stacie's face as she spoke and demonstrated had Chloe not eat a single piece of bread of the following month.

Nobody knows what Lilly tried to do, so they ended up ordering Thai food that night.

Cynthia-Rose went all out and put together an all-American barbeque, complete with burgers and hotdogs and steaks because, "errybody needs to know how to make a perfect steak!"

Before she knew it though, it was Beca's turn. The brunette hadn't even taken the whole thing seriously when she'd agreed to being included in the schedule.

She's put it so far out of her mind – what with other stuff happening like classes and managing the radio station and obviously the Bellas – that she's offended when she's literally hauled out of her blanket cave (again) by Amy and carried downstairs before being deposited in the kitchen next to a grinning redhead who has donned her 'kiss the cook' apron of all things for today. But she's Beca effin' Mitchell and she's got balls, so she rolls her eyes and tries to walk out because, "yeah, I'm not doing this" – only to have her way blocked by the Bellas who threaten to keep her in this kitchen even if they have to break her legs to do it.

Beca smirks and reminds them that she's been to jail, and that they don't scare her.

And that's when Stacie, standing all the way at the back but no less visible, lifts her hand and shows a pair of suspiciously familiar headphones held hostage. Beca's about to rage, taking another step towards where the Bellas are blocking the exit when Stacie's hands hold the headphones in a manner that clearly show she'll snap them in half if Beca doesn't comply. So the tiny brunette swallows thickly and turns back towards Chloe, whose grin has fallen as she leans back against the counter and picks at the hem of her apron, looking so unbelievably like a kicked puppy that Beca hates herself.

The Bellas inform the pair that they've all got things to do and that they'll have the house to themselves until later that night. Stacie promptly announces that she's going to take Beca's headphones with her and that the brunette will only get them back when she and Chloe can show proof that they successfully made something.

Beca, of course, has tuned them out in favor of slowly sidling up next to Chloe and trying to figure out how to turn that frown upside down.

(And Jesus Christ, when did she become someone who says things like "turn that frown upside down"? she needs to get a better hold of herself and the effect these girls have on her.)

It takes a few more minutes after the front door slams behind the last Bella for Chloe to break the tense silence.

"You know, Becs, you don't have to do this if you don't want to – which you made pretty obvious that you don't want to, so I release you from the responsibility. And if it's about your headphones, then don't worry, I'll just google some recipe and try it out myself. How hard can it really be, right?"

Beca's mentally smacking herself and kicking her own ass as she lifts off the counter and starts going through the cabinets in search of ingredients.

"I'm sorry, Chlo, I didn't mean to sound like such a jerk about this. It's just- well, you know me. I'm weird and awkward and bad at this having girlfriends deal. This whole "let's bake cookies and braid each other's hair" thing is still weird for me. But I do want to do this with you."

"Technically, nobody's said anything about cookies. Which is odd."

Freeing a bag of chocolate chip bag from the depths of the fridge with a triumphant "aha!" Beca turns to waggle her brows at the redhead.

"Well, I'm going to change that. Let's bake cookies."

Chloe's face, expressive as it is, doesn't hide her surprise at that.

"What? I know how to bake cookies. It's not a big deal, so don't turn it into one, Red."

So Chloe bites down on her bottom lip to keep her smile in check and simply leans in to kiss Beca on her rapidly reddening cheek and whispering a "thanks for doing this, Becs." against Beca's skin.

Clearing her throat, Beca proceeds to dish out instructions, pausing way too often for Chloe's comfort as she scrunches up her face in an attempt to remember something or other. The redhead follows Beca's directions without questioning them or pushing anything though and Beca's extremely thankful for that. Eventually, the brunette captain loosens up enough to open up and answer the questions she knows Chloe's dying to ask.

"I spent a summer with my Aunt Elliot once while my parents tried some last ditch effort resort thing to save their marriage. She owns a bakery. It's called "I Knead You", y'know, like what you do to bread?"

Chloe can't help but giggle because she loves a good pun and this one's downright adorable.

Rolling her eyes but smiling a little – only for Chloe – Beca continues, "anyway, I spent every day of that summer in her bakery's kitchen with her business partner and head baker, George. By the time I went back home – where my parents told me they were finalizing their divorce – I could bake seven different kinds of cookies and two fully decorated cakes without needing recipes."

The redhead smiles, albeit sadly around its edges, but her eyes shine with excitement because this'll be great.

But soon enough, Beca finds herself unable getting confused and suddenly there's flour all over Chloe.

The two co-captains blink at each other, trying to figure out what exactly happened before Chloe cracks up, hurriedly smacking her hands over her mouth to muffle it. Beca sheepishly smiles, eventually following Chloe into laughs that are slowly becoming hysterical.

Wiping her eyes with her clean wrist, and leaving flour smudges all over her face in the process, Beca admits that, "it's been a while since I've done this so it's going to be like I'm learning things with you as we go."

Except now Chloe's not at all interested in baking and more into smearing flour more evenly across Beca's face, the brunette standing there with her eyes squeezed shut and resigned to her fate.

When the Bellas get home that night, there isn't a single surface in their kitchen that isn't white with flour. The two women responsible for the mess lie on the floor, equally caked white with flour – and eggs, apparently, if the sticky shiny stuff in their hairs is anything to go by – and eating chocolate chips out of the bag as they talk in hushed tones and giggle occasionally.

The fact that Chloe's lying practically on top of Beca as the brunette's hand runs lazy nonsensical patterns along her co-captain's back excuses the mess they've made.

The lack of food – especially cookies – however is not, and Beca resigns herself to a weekend without music or mixing since Stacie makes it very clear that she's not giving Beca her headphones back.

(And by "makes it very clear" I mean all Stacie does it hold the headphone really high up in the air and watches as Beca jumps and flails her arms trying to reach it.)

It takes a while, but the two captains eventually get the kitchen clean, and by the time they're done Beca's too tired to even think about mixing anyway. So she spontaneously leans in and kisses Chloe's cheek, and waves goodnight to the Bellas as she trudges up the stairs and into bed.

(The following morning, Beca wakes up to a smell that takes her right back to an industrial kitchen, seated on counter as she folds chocolate chips into the cookie dough batter as George tells her all about his newest Danish recipe.)

(On her bedside table, next to her headphones, sits a plate of cookies that are looking slightly too baked on one side and a note with a familiar swooping looping cursive wishing her a, "have great day, Becs, and thanks again for trying to teach me how to make cookies. There's more where these came from, as long as the first bite doesn't kill you! Love you, Red.")

(They're perfect.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hear ye, hear ye.
> 
> Come one and come all, for lo and behold, I have joined the confusing and button filled world of tumblr.
> 
> Come find me @dishonoringthefamilycow, let's talk, bounce ideas off each other, and just be merry!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca knows this room, she's walked this floor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Holy guacamole, it's been so long! I'm sooooo sorry. I'm here, I'm back - even if it's probably temporary - and I've got an overdue prompted chapter for a guest on FF (Mia) who prompted: “i want a one-shot based on the song Hallelujah the Bon Jovi version ok please! full with angst and tears hahahaah.” I'm not sure this is what she had in mind, but I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> Again, so sorry for the delay. I've got another prompt on my list but that's about it, so if anyone has something in mind, hit me up even if it seems like I take forever to update (which, shamefully, I do) I will get yours written eventually!
> 
> Read on and enjoy, and leave me - the starved for attention and affection writer - a comment!

She hates that she’s back here.

She can’t help but wonder if things would be different if she hadn’t answered her phone that night.

Would her father still be dead if she didn’t get the news?

She hates the weight of the box of books and notes and personal belongings she cleared out of his office.

She hates her step-mother again after all these years for not being strong enough to even plan her father’s funeral, let alone clearing his office.

She hates her for sticking Beca with the unpleasant task of sitting her little brother down and making him understand that, “No, Kyle, Daddy’s not going to come home anytime soon.”

She hates standing back in the huge rehearsal space she spent hours in over the four years she went to Barden.

She hates the dancing images and memories of her Bellas going through cardio and choreography, their laughter and arguments loud and resonating around her right now, filling the overwhelming silence in the cavernous room.

She hates that she doesn’t know how any of them are doing.

Who would have thought that the one and only Beca Effin’ Mitchell would get so high and mighty that she wouldn’t bother keeping in touch with the only group of people that accepted her and loved her, that considered her their friend?

She hates the way she suddenly became “too busy to hang out” after one set of bright blue eyes and blinding flashes of red hair stopped loving her.

Ironically, said blue eyes and red hair stopped loving her because she was already convinced that Beca was more concerned about her work than anything else in her life – not even the one Bella Beca claimed to love more than her whole life.

It’s a cruel cycle, and Beca hates it all.

She wonders if Stacie ever went after that PhD.

Did Fat Amy and Bumper settle down in Little Rock?

She hopes Flo managed to stay alive.

She prays that CR’s still happily married.

Did Jesseley finally open that bakery they always planned on?

Is Lilly still quietly weird?

She wonders how Legacy handled the Bellas after being left in charge of them.

Is Aubrey still being a dictator at the Lodge of Fallen Leaves?

She makes her way to the piano, still somehow residing in the center of the practice hall and sits down heavily on the stiff bench.

The top hiding the ivory keys from sight is dusty from disuse and neglect, and it makes her smile ruefully because she can say the same thing about her heart.

She lifts it, listening to it creak and shudder, like the tremor her baby brother’s voice took on when he tried to understand what Death meant and why it had to take away his Daddy.

Her fingers tremble on their way to sit atop the keys, like they did when she placed the well-worn first edition copy of the first Harry Potter book in her father’s office into the box she was taking back to his home.

The first few notes sound tired, somehow hoarse and numb, like her mother’s silence over the phone when she told her about her father’s passing because divorced or not, David Mitchell was an important part of Emma Mitchell’s life and she was sad to hear about his heart attack.

The notes flow out of her, easier than riding a bike because when it comes to music, Beca doesn’t forget. She wishes she could say the same thing about the last time she spoke to her father. She can’t seem to remember what they said; was it nice? Or was she her usual insufferably hostile, bitter teen self?

It doesn’t matter either way because she can’t even remember when the last time they spoke was, and that’s enough for her to feel guilty over for the rest of her lonely life without needing to know if it were a fight or not.

She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that Chloe would know. Doesn’t even matter _what_ , she would just _know._

How to comfort her step-mother and brother; how to organize her father’s estate; how to give him a proper funeral.

How to help her be herself again.

She wonders, with an all-encompassing sense of loss and hollowness;

_“Is Chloe happy?”_

She’s grateful that the notes to Hallelujah bleed through her fingers so easily without needing sheet music, because her eyes are useless and _drowning_ in tears and her lungs are on fire because she won’t – can’t – let air in or out of them lest she sob uncontrollably and loudly.

She hates herself more than anything else in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hear ye, hear ye.
> 
> Come one and come all, for lo and behold, I have joined the confusing and button filled world of tumblr.
> 
> Come find me @dishonoringthefamilycow, let's talk, bounce ideas off each other, and just be merry!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beca's obsessed with a new show and too much of an idiot to realize anything. Enter Stacie, Fat Amy, and CR to knock some sense into her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know it's been a while, and I know you've sent in prompts. I have a list and I've written a page for the next prompt on the list, but I got stuck and I couldn't finish, so instead of leaving you all hanging, I wrote something inspired by my newest obsession.
> 
> If you watch Rizzoli & Isles, then you understand Beca's struggle. And maybe you've seen the similarities. Also, mild spoilers for 3X07 and 4X04.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own neither Pitch Perfect and its characters, nor Rizzoli & Isles and its characters.

They hear Beca way before they see her.

They also hear the TV so nobody's in any rush to save anyone from a crazed axe murderer. Or Fat Amy.

"GOD DAMN IT, RIZZOLI, WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?! GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS ALREADY!"

The tiny, livid DJ is throwing things at the TV when they finally step into the living area.

Stacie rolls her eyes and plops down beside Beca, easily transferring the popcorn bowl into her own lap and munching, voice amused.

"I still can't believe you're so into cop shows."

Beca's still upset and scowling at the going-ons on screen, and pouting petulantly when she answers, "well, not for long if Jane's gonna keep being so oblivious."

Stacie exchanges an exasperated look with CR and Amy as they walk in to hear Beca's statement and catch the show she's talking about, Amy not at all subtle when she pointedly comments, "Yeah, _Jane_ is really oblivious…"

As expected, Beca doesn't catch on, or even notice the heavy sigh from CR. She only notes Stacie dramatically falling back on the couch because it dislodges the popcorn bowl.

She's getting agitated again and throwing handfuls of popcorn when Chloe walks in from the kitchen, bottle of water in hand and an amused smile on her face at Beca's antics. She doesn't notice CR, Stacie, or Amy sit up straighter and eye her and Beca with interest.

Standing behind the couch and bending down to kiss Beca's head, Chloe muses, "this again, Becs?"

Neither Beca nor Chloe notice Stacie smiling softly because Beca relaxed under the effects of the kiss, fingers loosening around the popcorn she was about to throw again.

Her voice, however, was still agitated but at least it sounded more playful this time.

"Yes, this again! I can't believe her! Maura is going to go to _jail_! _Jane_ is going to put her in jail, and she can't even offer her best friend a hug?! You know, I was patient about everything after the whole Dominic ordeal, but this is just stupid, WILL YOU FREAKING KISS HER ALREADY, JANE CLEMENTINE RIZZOLI, YOU ABSOLUTE MORON!"

"If I recall correctly, _you_ were really against physical contact after your stint in the big house too, jailbird."

Beca drops her head back on the back of the couch to make sure her best friend catches her eye roll.

"Yeah, but I'm against physical contact _always_."

CR is quick to point out that so is Jane Rizzoli.

Beca sighs, mournful and sad.

"I _wish_ I was like Jane Rizzoli. Great figure, good at my job that actually helped people, great familial relationships, _and_ the smoking hot best friend that is so obviously head over heels in love with her-"

She stops midway through her statement to see why a pillow smacked into her, looking at CR, who has thrown herself over a struggling Fat Amy while the Australian yells about dingoes and making it look like an accident.

She's distracted enough to not notice Chloe's fingers weakening on her shoulder where they were subconsciously massaging out kinks and stress.

Stacie's thankful Beca's not as moronic as she looks when Beca's head turns to Chloe after noting the change and slight tremor in the redhead's voice, "Yeah. Who wouldn't want to be Jane Rizzoli? Excuse me, girls, I have some Russian Lit reading to catch up on. I'll see you guys for dinner. Becs, try to not smash the TV, hm?"

The brunette captain's made up her mind to go after Chloe - just as soon as she finds out what happens to Maura - when Stacie smacks her upside the head harshly and starts quietly yelling at her.

"Dammit, Beca, what is wrong with _you_?! You are actually going to sit here and watch this show and tell me you don't freaking see it yourself?! And what the hell was that crap about smoking hot best friends head over heels in love when you can't see it yourself- No, you know what, I don't care about winning World's anymore, I'm going to murder you."

Beca's halfway across the room already as Stacie rambles on, her eyes wide and her skin even paler than usual, then CR and Amy get up too and it doesn't look like they're going to be coming to her aid, so Beca scrambles for some kind of protection, brandishing one of their many trophies like a weapon as she gets up on a chair.

"Okay, stop you absolutely crazy women! What the _hell_ are you on about?!"

Fat Amy roars and charges her, Beca yelping as she jumps down and runs around, CR and Stacie just stepping out of the way and hindering Beca's progress where they can.

It doesn't take long before the tiny DJ is caught and roughly pushed into an armchair, the other three women hovering menacingly over her, Stacie the unofficial boss of the impromptu gang as she crosses her arms.

"You really gonna sit there and tell me you don't see it, _Rizzoli_? Your very own Maura Isles, and you're too blind to notice?"

Beca's jaw was slack, eyes unfocused as she takes in Stacie's words. There is a sudden trailer in her mind, like the stuff she has to sit through with Jesse because the weirdo insists they don't miss them. There is an entire soundtrack, too, going along with the images of her and Chloe interspersed with scenes from her show.

Suddenly, she can't breathe.

She can see the apology in Stacie's eyes as CR rubs her back while Beca breathes into a paper bag, Amy's contribution being a random story about kangaroos and CPR. All Beca's thinking about though is how much of an asshole she's been to Chloe.

Chloe.

She needs to talk to Chloe.

She's bolting up and past the girls, heart still hammering and her hands are shaking and sweaty. She barely makes it up to Chloe's room without barfing, almost pulling an Aubrey and losing her lunch when she's met with an empty room. Panic sets in before she hears the music drifting down from her own attic room.

Somehow, the thought that Chloe would take refuge in _her_ room calms Beca, and she finds that her knees stop shaking.

When she makes it up the final flight of stairs, she holds her breath and watches.

Chloe's back is to her as she browses Beca's bookshelf, softly singing to herself. To the casual observer, Chloe would seem like any other person looking for a good book, but not to Beca.

Beca can see the sadness curving her shoulders inwards, the soft melancholic lilt lacing her voice as she sings along to Etta James' "At Last."

_How fitting._

How is Beca supposed to do this? What should she say, what should she do?

Obviously, her solution is to open her mouth and ramble. That never ends badly.

Her voice shakes, but her stance don't waver.

"Hello, Dr. Isles."

Chloe's posture straightens so minimally that if it weren't Beca watching her, nobody would notice. Her smile's forced and confused as she teases halfheartedly, "are you so obsessed that you're officially confusing reality with fiction? Although I suppose if you're losing it, there are worse things to be than the "smoking hot best friend."

"Chloe."

She can see it, the barely there widening of Chloe's baby blues, and the slight increase in her breathing rate.

"I see it, Chlo. I'm sorry it took me so long."

"Beca, please don't."

Beca's stubborn and doesn't listen on a good day. Why Chloe thinks today will be different, she doesn't know. She boldly steps closer until she's toe to toe with Chloe, whose eyes are brimming with tears.

It is one of the worst sights Beca's seen.

She needs to fix it.

Hands framing Chloe's face, fingers slipping easily into her hair for a soft, subconscious massage, her voice is low and reverent.

"I see _you_ , Chloe."

Chloe's insides are liquefied, and her brain's a mess of words fighting to push through and out of her mouth. But Beca doesn't want to hear it, not right now.

Their kiss is soft and chaste, almost hesitant. But there is so much love, so many words that promise to come out at a later date.

Beca's heart breaks when she pulls back to see Chloe's tears, her eyes showing how long she's waited for this, how broken she'll be if this turns out to be a dream or something.

So she kisses her again.

More tears flow.

So Beca kisses her again.

And again.

And again.

Until Chloe's tears stop being so salty with sadness, and start shining with her happy, disbelieving giggles instead.

* * *

Downstairs, Stacie smiles softly as she shuts off the Rizzoli & Isles marathon Beca had started, while CR and Amy round up the rest of the Bellas for a seemingly random celebratory drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hear ye, hear ye.
> 
> Come one and come all, for lo and behold, I have joined the confusing and button filled world of tumblr.
> 
> Come find me @dishonoringthefamilycow, let's talk, bounce ideas off each other, and just be merry!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hear ye, hear ye.
> 
> Come one and come all, for lo and behold, I have joined the confusing and button filled world of tumblr.
> 
> Come find me @dishonoringthefamilycow, let's talk, bounce ideas off each other, and just be merry!


End file.
